Family
by Bainaku
Summary: Haruka comes home and finds what she has always wanted waiting for her.  Post-Stars.


**Warning: **This story involves two women together. If you're not fond of such things, you might not like this. There's also some light innuendo here, so proceed with caution, ye wee innocent underage readers. I'm not responsible for searing out your retinas—though I would be honored if you'd grant me the privilege.

**Commentary: **This is set post-Stars. While I hope that's clear, saying it twice can't hurt. =) This might be a one-shot, or the start of something longer and larger—I'm open to opinions and suggestions about that. Lastly, the latter part of the title of this means _welcome home._

To all of you who read, review, message, question, critique, and encourage me: thank you so much. Please continue to do so.

As always, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the BSSM franchise. It belongs to the goddess Takeuchi Naoko.

* * *

_I know now, just quite how  
__My life and love might still go on__  
In your heart, in your mind  
I'll stay with you for all of time_

—The Calling, "Wherever You Will Go"

**Family: OKAERI**

Haruka cut the engine low in the driveway and tipped her head back against the prow of the seat. As she jiggled the keys idly in one hand, listening to the chitter-chat sound they made in their movements over each other, her eyes drifted along the exterior of the rental house to its second-story left-hand window. A silhouette bobbed and shifted there in the thready shawl of an incandescent bulb's low glow. Its familiar shape sent puzzled warmth through her, and eventually she slipped from the car, locked it, and let herself into the house.

Shadows scurried away from her in the dim foyer. She stepped out of her shoes and went into the kitchen, where she left her keys on their designated hook. A glance at the clock told her 2 AM had come and gone already. Fingers curled about the handle of the refrigerator, she rifled through its holdings until she came upon something attractive, and she at last drank shamelessly from a pilfered carton of orange juice. Between swallows she listened to the house's post-midnight mutters, and in their midst she caught the jittery hum of the living room's television.

Rubbing her knuckles over her mouth, she replaced the carton and padded through the kitchen archway, hovering at the edge of the light-circle thrown off by the modest console. A late-night infomercial on special cookware occupied its screen. Haruka watched it for a moment, hands braced on stern hips. White-whip glare crawled over the toes of her socks.

"We have enough," she told the figure on the couch. She gestured to the advertisement's touted plastic containers.

Garnet eyes surveyed her across the carpet in amused reception. "You think that," Setsuna replied, "because you never cook." And then, "Welcome home."

Haruka smiled. "You too."

Bronze legs flexed beneath a pink nightgown and Setsuna nodded, patting one hand between the cushions for the remote. "Thank you."

"Staying a while this time?"

The older woman looked at her friend through her lashes, and the darkness did nothing to hide her grin. Her shoulders rolled in a gentle shrug.

Haruka chuckled. Stretching an arm through the television's glow, she tweaked a narrow foot and murmured, "I'm glad you're here, anyway."

Setsuna shifted the vulnerable appendage sedately out of reach, found the remote, and changed the channel. "I know."

"Don't act flattered at all, please."

"What?" Setsuna changed the channel again. "I know how fond you are of my croissants." She gave Haruka a wry look.

"You are going to make them, aren't you?"

"Of course."

"With the special syrup?"

"With the special syrup."

Monster trucks trundled across the television's display. Setsuna and Haruka watched them together for a moment, mesmerized. The latter repeated at length, "I'm glad you're here."

A dark thumb dipped and the screen went black. Rising, Setsuna settled the remote atop the television, grazed her fingers against Haruka's wrist, and slipped down the hall past her fellow soldier. Her response drifted back, seamless and appreciative and again an echo: "I know."

"Hey! What if I was watching that, huh?" Haruka tossed a smirk over her shoulder.

"There are better things to see," Setsuna advised the blonde. Her bedroom door clicked closed behind her.

The kitchen clock tapped time away. Haruka stood contemplatively in the archway on the balls of her feet, rocking slowly to and fro. Her smirk softened to a smile that she traced with her fingers, and a moment later she stole upstairs, a shiver-shard of gray-green eyes in the darkness.

There were three rooms on the second floor: a bath, a studio, and the bedroom Haruka shared with her lover. She rasped her knuckles across the door of the last and looked down at the line of light beneath it, then turned the knob and stepped inside.

Michiru sat nearby the window with a brush poised in one hand, the fingers of the other half-buried in a cascade of teal curls. Their scissor-shadows made murals on the wall. Her gaze, a tideline horizon, met Haruka's in the vanity's mirror. She smiled—her eyes sparked and her lips parted, and she mimed a kiss to the chamber's newcomer. Her elbow loosened and the brush moved again, its bristles bobbing beneath the sea-froth of the soldier's soft hair.

"You're still up," Haruka observed. It was part question, part pleasure.

"Mmhm." Michiru turned a bit on the vanity bench so she could look at her lover proper. "I was waiting for you."

"It's late," Haruka protested, but she was flattered and it came out in her voice, a trickle of heat in a cool place.

Michiru worked at a tangle and giggled. "Are you saying I should have a bedtime, Haruka?"

"I'm saying you should take care of yourself when I'm gone," the other woman sighed. She left the door and crossed the room in a languid lope, thumbs hooked in pockets, knees loose and easy. She stopped just behind Michiru, her world a sudden coral reef of marine locks and pale fingers. "Who else will?"

Michiru passed her the brush in silent demand. "I missed you," she said. She watched Haruka from the corner of an eager, encouraging eye.

Low laughter fluttering deep in her chest, Haruka ran the brush through Michiru's hair. The other soldier nudged up into the touch with a small approving murmur. "Did you?"

"What a question!" Michiru arched. Her curls fell in a warm cascade over Haruka's fingers and the taller of the pair shivered, enraptured.

She tweaked one and bent the brush over the seam. "It's gotten longer."

"Well, it's been three months."

Haruka tacked on, "And two weeks."

Michiru paused. Her mouth twitched, an almost-grin. She waited, got impatient, prompted: "And?"

"…and five days," the blonde admitted. The brush made _sfff-sfff _sounds through Michiru's twined tresses. She concluded, "And twenty-two hours."

"You missed me too." This was smug. Michiru swung a leg over the bench, straddling it now, and put her hands between her knees for bracing. Her feet swayed happily.

Haruka smiled and thought, _And nine minutes, and probably something like ten-eleven-twelve seconds_, but she kept it to herself. She moved the brush and skated her short, blunt nails over Michiru's scalp. The smaller woman made muffled mewls of satisfaction at the contact.

"Are you going to keep it long?"

"Maybe." Michiru looked up. Haruka's fingers ran over her cheek accidentally, a rough five-star sear across silk. Neither of them minded. "Do you like it?"

Pulling the brush away and her hands more reluctantly so, Haruka stepped back and surveyed her lover. The locks went down now to the center of Michiru's slender spine, by far the longest Haruka had ever seen them. Their tips curled faintly. She touched them with wondering fingers and thought again, _Three months, two weeks, five days, twenty-two hours, eleven minutes, fifteen seconds no, sixteen-seventeen-eight—_

"You don't, do you?"

"Ah?" Haruka blinked. She slipped forward and made to resume brushing once more.

"You don't like it." Michiru reached up and caught her fingers. She plucked the brush deftly away, set it to the side. Her eyes combed Haruka's face as their hands wove themselves together, a needle and its favorite thread. "Why?"

"I never said—"

"You didn't have to. Why?"

Haruka's mouth twisted. She looked away. Rolling her eyes, Michiru jabbed the taller soldier gently in the ribs and insisted, deadpan, "Haruka."

"It's beautiful," Haruka acknowledged.

"But?" Michiru nudged her elbow deeper.

"But," her partner finished, taking that elbow in her free hand before it could squash a breast, "it's hard to look at something beautiful and..." She stopped, struggled; her gaze found Michiru's, widened, flitted away again. "…and know it's a symbol of time spent apart," she finally forced out.

Michiru blinked at her lover, stunned. Color rose in her cheeks and she bit her lip, first gently and then harder, such that her teeth left dimples in the plump flesh. "Oh," she whispered. She lowered her head. Her shoulders shuddered, beset by a series of tiny, hitching trembles.

"Michiru?" Haruka's voice rose in alarm.

"That's _poetic_, Haruka!" Michiru gasped. She released her partner and clapped her hands over her mouth to laugh into them, eyes squeezed shut. Tears were beading at their corners: but the lighthearted, happy sort.

Haruka flushed. Snorting, she turned her back on Michiru, thrusting her fingers into the jutting crooks of her own elbows. "So?"

Michiru's giggles went up the register. "So? It's sweet, that's what's so. And sad. But mostly sweet."

"I can't be sweet?" Haruka grouched.

A moment later Michiru's arms slid about her waist, and the smaller woman nuzzled her cheek into the slight space between Haruka's throat and shoulder. She sighed, studied the blonde's jaw thoughtfully, tasted it. Her embrace felt like a heart's homecoming, and Haruka closed her eyes in silent bliss.

"You're _always _sweet," Michiru murmured a moment later, doubly resigned and affectionate.

"You make it sound like a bad thing." Haruka hesitated. She licked her lips. She ventured next, "Do that again, would you?"

"What?" Michiru's voice fell coy. She nevertheless feathered her mouth over Haruka's flesh, a throbbing star of heat. "This?"

Folding a hand over both of Michiru's, Haruka exhaled a hoarse, "Aa," and tipped her head back into the questing touch. She smoothed her thumb over her lover's wrist, wrote her name there.

When Michiru pulled back, she lathed the pink petal-mark left behind on damp skin and contended, "Twenty-three hours."

"Hm?"

"Twenty-three hours," she repeated. She tucked her face into a strong shoulderblade; her fingers grasped, caught Haruka's, rested again. Her arms tightened. "You forgot the time change."

Haruka opened her eyes. She frowned, thought about this. In an abrupt movement seconds later, she swept out a hand and turned off the light.

Michiru made a sound of quizzical surprise. "Haruka?"

The blonde squeezed Michiru's fingers, tugged hers free of them, and turned in her partner's arms. Leaning down, she insisted, "Sshh. I have more to make up for than I thought."

They kissed in the dark.


End file.
